


Reverse

by Zarla



Category: Phoenix Wright
Genre: Alcohol, Dramatic Reinterpretation of Canon Events, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-30
Updated: 2007-03-30
Packaged: 2017-10-06 04:24:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zarla/pseuds/Zarla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack decides to hate Will when he finds out that he's going to be the Steel Samurai, but then he finds out that Will isn't at all what he thought he'd be. <strike>AND THEN HE BONES HIM</strike></p>
            </blockquote>





	Reverse

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, this is the last thing I ever thought I'd write. Fluff fluff fluff fluff. Well actually Jack is kind of a self-centered grouch through most of this so that kind of lowers the fluff factor a bit.  
> I probably fudged some of the details about the studio and everything, and this is a preeeetty liberal interpretation of Case 3. In my defense maybe Phoenix was wrong about Jack hating Will and maybe Dee lied about Jack doing it on purpose because she hated Jack for killing her secret lover Manuel AND MAYBE JACK AND WILL REALLY WERE SCREWING EACH OTHER yeah I got nothing.

He thought he'd hate him. In fact, he'd been planning on it. He'd anticipated it because it seemed the only logical, rational reaction to the sudden disastrous turn his career and life had taken. Whoever it was that would be the Steel Samurai would get ten times the recognition that he would get; would actually be adequately, probably overcompensated for what Jack Hammer was sure would be shoddy work; and get fan mail that Jack was sure he wouldn't deserve. Meanwhile Jack would be trapped in his hot, stuffy costume, slaving for nothing in relative obscurity because he didn't have a choice.

He'd hate the new guy for being the hero, for earning more, for being a terrible actor as he was sure he would be, but more than that he would hate him for having a choice. It was all so gloriously unfair, that one mistake could unravel his life and career so completely. Years of renown, of comfortable living, of top billing all gone, gone because he pushed Manuel a little too hard and someone had seen him. She'd seen him. It was an accident but it didn't matter. He still killed someone, and she would never let him forget it.

Not that he would have anyway.

Jack was going to hate the Steel Samurai. He decided on that when he first learned he'd be the villain for the new show. Why not hate the hero? It only seemed logical. Why not hate someone who would have everything, who'd always defeat him, who could _leave_?

So it was decided, and that was that.

Then Jack met his new coworker, and immediately had to rework at least one of his preconceptions. Will wasn't a pretty boy who would only get by on his looks, expect special treatment because of his appearance, or get swamped with adoring fan mail from teenage girls. He surprised him enough that Jack was tempted to actually ask and make sure that this was really Will Powers, the man who'd be behind the Steel Samurai, but he thankfully thought better of it.

It threw Jack off because Will wasn't at all what he had expected to _see_, and as time went on he found out that Will wasn't anything that he had expected at all.

Will smiled at him when they first met, introduced himself with a mild stammer and a kind of quiet admiration in his eyes. The first thing he did after telling him his name was tell Jack how much he enjoyed his movies. Jack didn't expect this either, thinking that his coworker, the new embodiment of all his hatred and bitterness, would wave him and his career off like the rest of the population the minute his name dropped from headlines. Hollywood had a short memory, and that Jack knew too well.

Will did not, though. Jack asked him a few questions, to make sure he wasn't just being a suck up, and Will answered them with enthusiasm, correctly. When Will mentioned a particular outtake in _The Bearded Samurai_ Jack couldn't help but smile, and Will seemed visibly relieved at his apparent approval.

Well, at least Will cared about what Jack thought of him. Jack hadn't expected that either, but he wasn't about to let that fool him. It was so much easier to imagine Will as a fierce rival, an intolerable pompous blowhard who didn't appreciate what he had, who lorded his position as the Steel Samurai over the pitiable Evil Magistrate.

Will did not meet his expectations.

Despite his appearance, Will seemed almost timid, particularly around Jack in the earlier days. He was quick to apologize and put himself down, polite and agreeable to a surprising degree. Jack tried to be cynical and think that this was merely because he and Will performed so many complicated action scenes together. It was important that the two be comfortable with each other.

Will's simple earnestness, and the fact that he remembered what tea Jack said he liked the first day they'd sat down to lunch together, made this harder and harder to believe with each passing day.

After being around him for a while, working with him, Jack almost felt guilty for trying to hate him. Will tried so hard to do everything correctly and to do his work competently. He was honest but a little nervous, hesitant to speak up and protest if forced to work extra hours, apologetic and self-debasing when Manella would yell at him for screwing up a scene. Jack took advantage of Will's good nature once by asking him to put in some extra hours while he took a nap, and it was so easy that it made it impossible for him to rest.

He just...felt guilty. Will had done nothing to him, not really...and from the way he behaved, he didn't seem to ever want to do anything to him.

Will wanted to be friends...or at least on good terms with him.

And...why not? Will...he was a nice guy. Lacking in self-confidence, sure, but he seemed genuinely caring, concerned over the minutiae of Jack's life that would have seemed insincere if coming from anyone else.

It wasn't Will's fault Jack had done what he did...it wasn't his fault that Jack pushed too hard that day. Jack's hatred and bitterness towards Vasquez had only grown during the years since the accident, when he learned that his whole life would be hers, that he could no longer _choose_. His resentment had consumed his days, causing him to dwell and brood and it was hard to remember when he had felt anything else, that so long ago all he felt was guilt and sorrow over what he'd done instead of just this constant, burning hatred.

He thought if he just had different targets, if he didn't keep returning to that devil woman and her cold smile, that maybe it would stop, or lessen, or...something. He had thought that maybe hating others would make it...less consuming.

Thus why he planned on hating Will.

But he couldn't...he had no reason to, and no matter what happened, Will never gave him a reason.

And slowly over time, he realized that it was talking and interacting with Will that made his days bearable.

After a long battle, Jack finally gave up on hating Will for good and grudgingly let himself be more friendly towards him. Jack's change in demeanor seemed to surprise Will at first, but it didn't take long for Will to become bolder, less nervous when he talked to him or invited him to eat lunch together.

Will sought out his company willingly, talked about his family, tried to make jokes that were more endearing than amusing since Will would get nervous and his voice would shake while delivering the punch line. At times it was hard to believe that the strong and powerful Steel Samurai on screen was the same guy who had a tendency to stutter and lose his place when telling a simple joke.

They spent more and more time together as the days went on. It didn't take long for Jack to realize that Will considered him his friend, and as days went by, Jack realized somewhat to his surprise that he felt the same.

Once he decided to let go, to accept Will as a friend, it felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. While interacting with Will had never been difficult, there was still a shadow hovering over them that now seemed dispelled. It was easier to talk to him about small things, to let his guard down for once around him and, strangely enough, to trust him.

Jack hadn't trusted anyone since the accident. He'd been far too wrapped up in his guilt and grief at first, then the hatred and bitterness later replaced that, and he barely had time to focus on anything except keeping himself alive and keeping Vasquez happy, both jobs that he found he had a growing distaste for as time went on. He had no time to talk to anyone, no time to connect with anyone, and certainly no time to build up trust with someone.

Then along came Will, and it felt like years since he'd felt this way around anyone. He had never realized how alone he felt until he recognized Will's friendship, or how badly he wanted (needed?) a friend. Jack felt more and more drawn to him, more dependent on him to get through each day. That enthusiasm and sheepish grin at each fumbled line was the only thing that could make Jack smile anymore. There was nothing else left...nothing real. Nothing really personal, and the friendship he shared, the first in such a long time, was personal.

Will was still eager to agree to do what he asked, quick to apologize if it was something that he for some reason could not do. Jack asked him out to lunch, outside of work, and Will stammered a yes, puzzled and nervous. It was pleasant and simple like Jack knew it would be, and later Jack asked Will to dinner. Again, another yes, just as he expected, although Will still sounded confused by the offer.

Jack ordered for them both and Will had no complaints, and after a few glasses of cheap wine (all that Jack could afford) things got hazier and closer. Will had a way of laughing, kind of hesitant if he wasn't entirely comfortable, but once he let himself go, it was the loud and booming kind that Jack expected to hear when he first saw him. The lines around his eyes faded, his words became less careful, and sometimes he didn't wait for Jack's reaction before continuing. Will even talked about how his older brothers had teased him unmercifully when he was younger, although he was profoundly embarrassed afterwards and asked Jack if he'd forget he'd said that.

It was rare to see Will let his guard down and Jack in a way felt proud at the fact that he could do it. Will trusted him enough for it, and that meant something. Jack may have been forgotten by nearly everyone, may be making nearly nothing for work he thought degrading, but he could make the big nervous softie of a man smile honestly at him, and that meant something.

It was the only thing that meant something, and the only thing he had.

Slowly, days that had blurred into obscurity before now became a comfortable routine, made memorable only by the daily interaction he had with Will. It went this way for a while, countless unremarkable days until something changed.

It was during a rehearsal for a particularly thrilling episode, when the Evil Magistrate loomed over a weakened Steel Samurai and things looked bleak. Will stared up at him, sweating and preparing for his next move, to toss Jack to one side and escape.

He wasn't entirely sure what made him do it. It was quick and imperceptible to those watching, the Evil Magistrate leaning forward so that the Steel Samurai could push him back, and while their faces were next to each other for that brief second, Jack turned and just lightly pressed his lips to Will's cheek. So quick that no one had noticed, just a simple turn of the Evil Magistrate's head and Will pushed him off, staring at him with wide frightened eyes. And that was the first thing that came to mind...frightened.

Jack just smiled, hoping that his silent message to just let it go for now would be understood, and continued with the routine. Will faltered, still staring at him, now shaking and red in the face, and when he tripped and fell at Jack's next attack Manella called for a cut and began shouting at them in...whatever language it was he spoke.

Jack pretended to be listening, although he wasn't doing any such thing, and extended a hand to help Will up. Will took it after a moment's hesitation, still shaking, and he looked at Jack somewhat warily.

Part of him wanted to see if he could do it...if Will would let him do it. Some other part of him wanted to know that he was still capable, that the bitterness and rage he still felt everyday hadn't completely devoured him, hadn't destroyed everything except the desire for revenge that only grew stronger.

He had various reasons, dozens of them that changed depending on when he thought about them, but the one that seemed fairly constant was the question of if he _could_. Some quiet spark of adventure perhaps, the conquering of the mountain because it's there. He'd come so far...how far could he go? Why stop? He felt...he felt better when he was with him, so...how far could he go?

There was that fear, that brief concern, that perhaps he would ruin everything if he pushed too hard, that Will would resist but Jack Hammer didn't like fear and he pushed that down quickly. Fear only held you back.

It happened some hot summer night, when they were working hard on some episodes with a long series of complicated action scenes that required every move to be performed just right. They made their way to their trailers, limping and breathing hard. More work early tomorrow, no point in going home...not that Jack had anyone to go home to. They'd stay the night here, and Jack asked Will if he'd come with him to his trailer. They could talk, wind down, relax a bit after a hard day's work, and Will nodded gratefully.

The two sat and talked, chatted about this and that, about Sal and Dee and Penny, about the future of the Steel Samurai series, about the recent episodes and how they were going to pull off the stunts tomorrow with how sore they were now, and Jack asked if Will wanted anything to drink.

Jack drank too much...that wasn't new, and it didn't surprise him really. It was a problem that had started, predictably, when his life began to go downhill. It seemed reasonable enough.

He drank too much, and perhaps Will drank too much but Jack didn't know.

Will asked him what that brief kiss was about, months before. He really did have a good memory.

Jack responded that that wasn't a kiss at all, and then promptly showed Will the difference.

Will was, as he tended to be when presented with unfamiliar situations, hesitant and nervous, but not entirely unwilling. Jack certainly wasn't at this point, the alcohol and loneliness perhaps going to his head, but he couldn't say for sure. It started small, but then Jack buried his hands in Will's wild hair and kissed him fiercely and found that, while it took him a while to either work up the courage or simply decide, Will reciprocated.

Kissing hard, and it had been years since Jack had done this, years, and before he knew it he had Will under him, yielding and compliant. Will matched him when engaged, but did not initiate anything himself. While Jack could tell he was enjoying this...still he trusted Jack to make the first move.

So he did. As the two of them awkwardly shifted off sweaty and sticky clothes, fumbling in the relative darkness, Jack led and Will followed. More details, small things he hadn't expected. Will wasn't loud, exactly, but he never stopped making noise...an almost unending stream of whimpers, sighs, moans, his name. When he ran his hand through his hair, Will leaned his head back to follow, arched his body appreciatively. He followed all of Jack's directions, wordless or whispered, willingly submissive in a way Jack found surprisingly intoxicating.

For a few moments, here and there, Jack thought about exactly what he was doing, who he was doing it with. His coworker, the star of the children's television show that earned so much more than he did, that had the coveted status of being a hero, who had the luxury of _choice_...

And Jack thought as Will dug his nails into his back and cried out, an encouraging nonsensical sound, that he _did_ have a choice, he could still choose because he was here, and he chose Will, and he chose to do this with Will, and that was something.

Like everything with Will, it was something.

When it was all over, when he'd spent himself and Will followed a little later (God, he almost looked _shy_ when he did), Jack didn't regret his decision, because at least he had made one.

The next day, things weren't so clear-cut. Sweaty, dirty, tired, sore, hungover, and Will contentedly draped over him, sleeping quite peacefully.

This could never work. Jack touched Will's face, traced the lines around his mouth and eyes, the fringe of hair along his jaw line. This could never work. What did they really have together? This connection, but what was it really?

Nameless vague doubts, and Jack wondered what he was going to do. Some part of him said that he couldn't continue with this, that this was the kind of thing he simply could not do, but he couldn't exactly...find a reason why.

They erased the evidence once they woke up properly, went to work as usual although Will kept looking at him and blushing, which caused the studio's crew no end of confusion, particularly from the security lady. Jack wished he'd be more discrete, but being discrete wasn't exactly Will's forte.

It didn't happen again for a while, until the harder days were over and they finally had the time for some breaks, but it did happen again. Intriguingly enough, it was always Will's idea...he'd edge closer to him, touch his hand or imitate that brief kiss to the cheek that Jack had done so long ago, and wait, wait for Jack to continue.

It was so hard to resist. Jack knew that he should, but...he found that it was surprisingly difficult to refuse Will, just as perhaps Will found it difficult to refuse him.

They were still friends, still able to talk and joke like they used to. What was it that made this wrong...? That made him worry, wonder...never initiate?

It all came back to the same thing, the same person. Vasquez. She knew, she still knew, and still she held that power over him, mocking him. His dismal paycheck, his inability to pay for lunch when he and Will went out, it all fed the bitterness and resentment, something that only kept growing with each passing day.

Will didn't know, and Jack didn't exactly want to tell him. When he wasn't with Will, working with him or talking with him or trying in vain not to have sex with him, his thoughts kept returning to Dee Vasquez. To what she'd done, to what she continued to do. To her mocking comments the last time they met, to the way she ignored him, laughed at him, kept his posters up as if to remind him of the glory she'd taken away from him.

He hated her so much, and it was harder and harder to support himself, to keep himself alive and...to try and stay away from Will. But Will was the Steel Samurai, and he was the Evil Magistrate, and the two could not be separated. He couldn't avoid Will, and in a way he didn't want to. Without him...he wasn't sure who he'd be.

And slowly, despite the nights they spent together, the small things that Will did like finding him a little action figure from one of Jack's old movies, the hatred Jack held for Vasquez grew and began to overpower all else. If she'd just let him go, if she'd let him get paid, if she gave him the money he earned, the roles he deserved, he'd be able to finally let go of the leaden weight, the constant hating and desire for revenge that still haunted him no matter what he did.

Will wouldn't understand...Jack wasn't sure if Will _could_ hate like Jack could now, although back a few years ago...Jack wouldn't have thought himself capable of it either.

Will noticed he seemed gloomy recently, that he'd been brooding, and Jack knew he had to do something. Will was a taste of what he once had, and in a way, it made him wish for his freedom more than ever. Vasquez still dangled that picture above him, still kept him here, working long hours to barely feed himself, and he had to do something. He had to do something because he was not going to live the rest of his life in Vasquez's shadow.

Jack kept trying to find time to think and Will kept hovering around him, and eventually he snapped at him and told him to leave him alone. Will looked hurt and Jack felt for all the world like he just kicked a puppy, but he just had to focus, to think. He had to think this through, or he could simply end up ruining his life more than he already had.

She held the strings, but there had to be a way to get her to let go, do something...there had to be a way out of this. Some option he hadn't tried, something he hadn't said. He ran over possible conversations in his mind, over and over, finally finding one approach he had yet to try. He worked it out, tried to think of every possible retort or escape that she would have, to make it the perfect speech that would set him free.

It was entirely possible he'd been working on a children's TV show too long.

The idea of saying the words that he thought would make her let him go, to accompany them with all of the furious insults and accusations that he'd always longed to say, became just as consuming as his general bitterness. The time he spent with Will only reminded him of what he could have if he just said it, said everything. If he just laid it all out on the table, let it all go for once. He could do this, he could break free. He had to at least try or he'd be trapped beneath her forever. He couldn't bear to have to ask Will to pay for dinner one more time, no matter how Will said that he didn't mind. He couldn't take the complete and total _humiliation_ of that any longer.

His chance came. One day, she asked him to meet her after rehearsal to discuss something important and that, under no circumstances, should be disclosed to anyone. Whether this was for her benefit or Jack's he couldn't say. Her tone made it clear that any questions asked would not be tolerated, and of course he couldn't refuse, so Jack was going to have to be even more careful about going to Studio Two than usual.

The only problem, really, was the security lady. Jack knew she'd be watching the path at that time, and it would be difficult to get past her, dressed as the Evil Magistrate or not. Knowing her, she would follow him right up to Studio Two and eavesdrop on the whole conversation, and Vasquez might cut his pay even further down and he could _not _afford that. In a way, he appreciated her enthusiasm, whatever her name was, but he couldn't have her as a tagalong this time.

Eventually he realized that the best way to get past her would be to disguise himself as someone that she had absolutely no interest in - Will Powers.

The last thing he wanted was for Will to know what was going on, and he couldn't think of any way to ask for the costume or explain things without having to explain too much. However, Jack had recently been prescribed some medication to help him sleep, since the stress of managing his pitiful finances and obeying Vasquez's sadistic whims took its toll on Jack in more ways than one, and if he could just knock Will out for a few hours so he could borrow his costume without any problems, then Will would be none the wiser, not to mention unhurt. Besides, it would probably do his ankle good. That thought almost made him feel better about what he was doing, but it was a weak justification and he knew it.

It was the last thing he wanted to do, and it was the last thing he would have done...if he had a choice.

Sure enough, they had lunch together as they always did, Will suspecting nothing, and it worked just like Jack thought it would. Will fell asleep in the dressing room shortly afterwards, making sneaking in and putting on the costume all too easy.

Although he hadn't planned on it, he spent a few moments just staring at Will, watching him sleep. As the guilt over drugging him grew, Jack reminded himself of why he had to go to Studio Two in the first place, and again resentment cleared away all other feelings. He again ran over the speech he had been working on for the past few days in his mind, everything he'd wanted to say for so long but never had the chance or courage.

Who would have thought it would have taken someone like Will to finally make him stand up to Vasquez?

He watched Will sleep for a few moments more, and in a sudden and brief moment of emotional weakness, considered waking him up and telling him everything. He wasn't sure where the stupid thought had come from and it was quickly dismissed. Will didn't need to know what position Jack was in...and he didn't need to know what Jack had done.

Will's chest rose and fell. Jack found it suddenly difficult to leave the room. Not sure what was keeping him, he ran over his speech again in his head, reminded himself again to limp when he left, and on that thought, he checked Will's ankle. Still bandaged and swollen, nothing out of the ordinary.

He couldn't believe he was doing this, that he'd actually done this. Jack ran a hand through his hair, paced around the room for a few moments, then leaned the spear against the wall. Again he stood beside Will where he slept, and he carefully reached down and ran a hand through his hair. Will barely reacted to the touch, perhaps a testament to the sleeping pill's power, although he did turn his head towards Jack.

Will was well and truly asleep, so Jack thought it seemed like as good a time as any to apologize. He whispered it softly beside Will's ear, who didn't react, then he turned to leave, picking up the spear on his way out.

He didn't know what Vasquez wanted, but he knew that he had some things he wanted to say to her that were long overdue.


End file.
